


say it.

by lannistering



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannistering/pseuds/lannistering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei only lets him have control in the bedroom. For the yescon kink meme on lj!</p>
            </blockquote>





	say it.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [houselannister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/houselannister/gifts).



“Say it,” she hisses at him a third time, standing just out of his reach. When they’re positioned like this the light catches her hair, almost blinding, the way she glows. Cersei is every bit the queen anyone in his right mind could imagine and he wants her; he wants her so bad his bones ache and he feels it in his fingers.

“My queen,” he releases because it feels right, because she needs to hear it. Anything to get her to quit pushing him away. When Robert calls her his queen it’s an insult somehow, a scathing dismissal of the power she feels she should have. Coming from Jaime she can enjoy it, revel in it even, because she knows he means it. With him she feels like the golden, glittering queen she should be.

But Jaime will never let it be that easy for her; he prefers to swat and play with her like lion cubs before he makes her his. “It’s been far too long since I’ve fucked you,” he remarks with his usual charming nonchalance but it infuriates Cersei all the same. It’s only been two weeks, a relatively mild break for the two of them, but it feels too long for Jaime all the same.

He wants her every day, wants her as his wife, wants her until she has nothing left to give and then some.

Ultimately their will powers are matched but Jaime is quicker and stronger and it shows. He has her caught against his metal before she can breathe, her struggle futile in face of his armor. “Keep your voice down,” she manages with the same malicious, commanding tone as before as if he’s hers to control. Jaime listens.

“Is this better?” He whispers with a smirk, his hand having found the mound between her legs. There’s too much fabric, he thinks vainly, but he hears her breath hitch when she speaks and knows he’s won. “Shush.”

From there it’s a cultivated dance to her bed, a mixture of limbs and desperate embraces. The corset she has on is new, he’s unfamiliar, and Cersei thinks the grumble it elicits from her brother is so loud he might as well have fucked her already. Her hand covers his mouth but he’s had enough, whipping her around sharply by her wrist instead. In half a second she’s staring the ornate comforter in the face, the position giving Jaime free reign to fiddle with the strings now separating them. There’s a moment in which she struggles, an insult or a command dawdling on the tip of her tongue, but he kisses her shoulder blade and she yields.

Her whole life has been a battle for control, tooth, nail, and claw. She seeks it over her abusive husband, over the oppressive world, over her powerful father, but not Jaime. Jaime is her; Jaime would never hurt her, not really. The sting she feels when he slaps her ass is momentary, fleeting, but Cersei feels her adrenaline peak.

She only notices the corset is off when she feels his chest pressed to her back, firm in ways her husband was no longer. Get on with it she wants to scream but bites her tongue instead, knowing he wants the same. But Jaime does not indulge her, instead he draws out his motions in ways he knows will make her squirm. His cock is hard and insistent, pressing against the swell of her ass while he pins her wrists into the blankets. They’re piled high, tall, crimson, and unnecessary.

“Say something.” This time when she speaks it’s not demanding; she’s begging. He’s reduced her to that with the way his hips roll, bringing her no satisfaction. If he’s going to do this he should at least give her an explanation. It takes every inch of resourceful will power for Jaime to muster authority in his response, his own body far too willing. “You shouldn’t keep me waiting so long.” He asserts it with a tweak of her nipple, enough that she gasps and presses her forehead into the silk.

The sound is so near a moan it has Jaime trembling, his hand now trapped between her body and the sheets. Even so, his fingers are sure in their path when they stop at her entrance, swiping with a delicacy that doesn’t match his voice. Still he gives her no gratification.

He’s taken his finger into his mouth, she can tell from the sound and it has her whipping her head to catch a glimpse. The sight causes a shiver in her core, a parting of her lips, and he lets her watch until he’s removed the digit and gave a final lick of his bottom lip. After that he guides her chin so that she’s face to face with the crimson yet again, his breath heavy in her ear. “Say it,” Jaime repeats, but Cersei doesn’t need to see him to know he’s basking in triumph, a grin on his face. She shouldn’t need to tell him she wants him for him to know; he’s felt it, tasted it, but he wants to hear it just as she’d needed to hear her power.

“Jaime, please.” That’s all it takes before he’s buried inside her to the hilt, a moan released that felt so natural she couldn’t pinpoint the source. Jaime doesn’t have to pin her down after that because she’s not going anywhere, not with the glorious friction between her legs and his lips on her neck. His rhythm is merciless even from the start until her breaths turn into pants and she’s rutting against him. Cersei is greedy for him, for his seed, for his cock.

She builds too quickly, her knuckles going white with her grip on the red sheets, the gold of her hair mixing in, so smooth Jaime can’t tell the difference. She’s only just released a moan when her head snaps back, a result of his grip on her golden locks. “Don’t come,” Jaime insists, his pace now infinitely slower. Her hips shoot back in protest but it gets her nowhere, in fact the only visible reaction he has is a tighter tug of her hair. “Not yet.”

When he senses she’s done fighting him he turns them over; if he can Jaime never lets go of an opportunity to see her face. The mirror reflection is one thing and her moans are another, the purrs of satisfaction driving him on with every pointed thrust of his hips. Her legs spread naturally for him and he gets a pool of triumph low in his belly, knowing she’d never acquiesce to Robert (or anyone else) that easily. Just him, only him, only them – 

Before he knows it he’s picked up his pace again, his face buried in her chest, kissing, biting, licking, scratching. Like this they’re lions, made whole when he collides their mouths and digs himself one – two – three more times inside her. Cersei clenches around him and they shudder to completion, a twisted but flowing mess of pale limbs, golden hair, and sweat.

He tastes the extra salt on her skin afterwards when he kisses her chin, then her collarbone. The crimson red of his bite marks on her chest match the sheets but they won’t last – just long enough for her to remember.


End file.
